


And These Promises I'll Keep-

by Cherry101



Series: Fluffverse [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 5+1 Things, ALL THE FLUFF, But no biggie, Dates, Engagement, Family, Finally I can add that tag - Freeform, Fluff, How Do I Tag, I have twenty stories and I still don't know, Is it bad that I really love my ocs?, Katsuki Yuuri and Victor Nikiforov are Yuri Plisetsky's Parents, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Otabek is a gentleman, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Otabek Altin, Romantic Fluff, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Weddings, also, cause i do, don't wanna spoil you all, in which Cherry ships Mila with one of her ocs, teeny tiny bit of angst, you can tear that headcanon from my cold dead hands, you can't stop me from using my birthday for literally everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 02:57:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12356031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherry101/pseuds/Cherry101
Summary: “We’re going to stay in contact. You’re going to come to me complaining about Viktor and Yuuri, and in return I’ll be ranting about my siblings. Don’t worry about it.” Otabek promises, hoping he comes off as sincere as he feels about this.Yuri stares at him for a moment before chuckling softly, his worries disappearing. In their wake are bright green eyes, and the flush even drains from his cheeks.“Okay.” He replies in return, sounding much more sure of himself than he did before, “Okay.”~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Or, five times Otabek promises Yuri something, and one time he gets a promise in return





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thesameoldfairytale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesameoldfairytale/gifts).



> Hello! I'm alive! Haven't had access to good internet in awhile... 
> 
> So, I promised thesameoldfairytale this fic in the middle of August. ...took me long enough huh. Two months later, here it is - a whopping 13k fic with copious amounts of fluff and very little angst. I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS LIN. I DID IT FOR YOU.
> 
> ((please please please comment and tell me how I did... i spent two months on this fic guys... TWO MONTHS))

“I can’t believe it’s over already.”

 

Otabek glances over at Yuri, who looks just as glum as his statement sounded. Strange - Yuri had seemed excited to leave Barcelona before. He guesses it’s something about the finality of standing at an airport. 

 

“I thought you wanted to leave.” He ends up saying, voicing his thoughts in a way that only Yuri can draw from him. 

 

Yuri scoffs, “I do want to leave, don’t get me wrong. It’s just…”

 

And Otabek gets it. Really, he does. The Grand Prix had flown by in a blur of movement - the short program standings, the rushedness of the free skate, the excitement and adrenaline of the exhibition. 

 

The thought of the exhibition almost sends a flush of red to his cheeks. He pushes the thought aside. 

 

“It’ll be alright. Besides, this means you can start training for the Russian Nationals so you can kick Viktor’s butt.” He attempts to comfort.

 

“I’m going to kick his ass anyways.” Yuri snipes, but his lips twitch in the faintest hint of a smile. It’s gone within seconds, though, and the Russian gains a far off look in his eyes. “We’ll... “  He doesn’t finish the thought.

 

Otabek waits for him expectantly. He may have only known Yuri for several days now(only  _ really  _ known Yuri, not the fantasizing or daydreaming he may or may not have done in the past), but he knows that the blonde had to take moments to collect his thoughts.

 

However, they don’t have a lot of time before his plane takes off, so he nudges Yuri gently with his shoulder, “We’ll what?”   
  


Yuri bites his lip, “We’ll still keep in contact, right?”

 

Otabek almost wants to laugh at how ridiculous the idea is. Not that he doesn’t want to keep in contact(no, nothing like that) but it’s so  _ obvious  _ how new Yuri is to the whole friendship thing.

 

He doesn’t laugh though - just twitches his lips in what he hopes is a smile, “Of course we’ll keep in contact, Yuri. It’s why I gave you my number.”

 

Yuri flushes a bright red, “Yeah, I know, but…”

 

He doesn’t have to say more. Otabek understands. It’s stressful, being an international athlete. It doesn’t leave much room for friendships. He has it good - jumping into skating so late gave him time to make friends before his life turned hectic. 

 

However, when Yuri started training, he started in a foreign city, with nobody but rinkmates to talk to. Friendship wasn’t an option for him - no wonder he’s so nervous. 

 

“Look at me,” Otabek says, gently cupping Yuri’s cheek in what he hopes is a friendly gesture.

 

The blonde looks up from where he had been staring at the ground. His cheeks are still a bright red, and the skin-to-skin contact doesn’t seem to be doing much. 

 

“We’re going to stay in contact. You’re going to come to me complaining about Viktor and Yuuri, and in return I’ll be ranting about my siblings. Don’t worry about it.” Otabek promises, hoping he comes off as sincere as he  _ feels  _ about this.

 

Yuri stares at him for a moment before chuckling softly, his worries disappearing. In their wake are bright green eyes, and the flush even drains from his cheeks.

 

“Okay.” He replies in return, sounding much more sure of himself than he did before, “Okay.”

 

Otabek pulls him into a hug. He’s not normally very touchy, but… Yuri’s different. It’s been four days, and already the blonde has surpassed his own friends in closeness. It feels natural, though. 

 

Yuri, surprisingly, accepts and returns the hug - from what Otabek’s gathered, the blonde isn’t quite so touchy either - and they awkwardly embrace for several seconds before Yuri pulls away.

 

“Flight 323.” Calls the overhead speaker, and Yuri starts visibly at the announcement.

 

“That’s my flight.” He explains, his expression morphing back into one of obvious displeasure, “I’ll text you when I land, da?”

 

Otabek attempts to smile in return, “Okay. Be safe. We’ll talk later.

”

Yuri offers another small smile - probably the best he can muster - before waving and dashing off. 

 

Otabek watches him go with a fond smile on his face. 


	2. The Second Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics used in speaking indicate Kazakh being spoken. Just saying. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“I can’t believe you’re spending your birthday here.” Otabek muses, and not for the first time.

 

Yuri rolls his eyes, “You’ve said that five times now. I’ve spent my birthday with Yakov, Mila, Georgi, and Viktor for five years now. I wanted to spend my 16th with you.”

 

“I’m honored.” 

 

“You should be.” 

 

Otabek laughs, and Yuri turns his head, pressing his nose against the window of the taxi. The Almaty air is warmer than it is in Russia, and there is no condensation on the window, so the blonde is able to see out of it. 

 

He watches his friend look out the window, smiling. Almaty is a beautiful city - he’s so happy he gets to share his hometown with the person he considers the closest to him.

 

“How long are you down again?” He asks curiously. He has to prioritize what they get to see in the days Yuri is down - not to mention his friends have claimed one day to introduce themselves to his new friend. 

 

“Five days.” Yuri says, not turning his head from the window, “It’s all I could get from Yakov.” 

 

Otabek hums at that, and he shuffles awkwardly, not quite sure what to say next. Conversation is important for any friendship(or so he read on the internet), yet the silence isn’t awkward or unbearable. It’s almost… comfortable, in a way he isn’t used to with his friends here in Almaty.

 

It’s  _ nice.  _

 

The silence stretches until the taxi pulls to a stop, in front of the house that Otabek has called home for all his life. He fumbles for his wallet to pay the driver, as Yuri opens the door, stepping to the back of the car to retrieve his luggage. 

 

Otabek almost feels… embarrassed, to be showing Yuri his house. He’s in the process of buying his own apartment(a long process, given that his parents really don’t want him to move out), and he knows that Yuri doesn’t really like people. At all. 

 

Nevertheless, he leads the blonde up to the front door, and, taking a hopefully unnoticable breath, pushes his way inside. 

 

“Going to warn you now,” He starts, sparing a second to glance back at a clearly nervous Yuri, “My family is… something else.”

 

“Can’t be worse than mine.” Yuri mumbles under his breath. Otabek has a feeling he isn’t supposed to hear that comment, not with how negative his friend sounds. 

 

He doesn’t say anything - in due time, the blonde will surely tell him more about his past and homelife. Now is not that time, and he would never push Yuri to say anything if his friend doesn’t want to. 

 

He makes the mistake of calling out a soft, “I’m home,” which immediately sends footsteps flying down the stairs and into the front room. Otabek barely has time to take off his shoes before the form of his younger sister crashes into him.

 

_ “Beka! You’re back _ !” Farida exclaims in chirped Kazakh. 

 

He chuckles, “ _ I was only gone for an hour, Farishka _ .” 

 

The twelve year old mockingly pouts at him, sticking out her lip and fluttering her eyelashes,  _ “It felt like for-ever _ .” She draws the word out, placing her hands on her hips with a dramaticized huff. 

 

“This is one of your sisters?” Yuri asks from behind him, and Otabek immediately feels bad for not introducing them.

 

Of course, the Russian words notify Farida to Yuri’s presence, and she grins at him, her eyes flashing with an almost predatory light.

 

“You are Yuri? Beka’s friend?” She asks in her limited Russian - despite learning it in school as a second language, she never quite picked up on it like Otabek did. 

 

Yuri nods, and Farida launches herself at him, grabbing his free hand excitedly and chatting in broken Russian.

 

“Beka speaks much about you! He like you, and I like Beka, so I like you too!” She declares boldly, and then promptly drags the blonde towards the stairs, “You come to my room?”

 

Otabek can’t help but laugh, even as Yuri looks to him for help as his younger sister pulls the Russian up the stairs. His suitcase is left behind. 

 

The Kazakh takes the case gingerly, preparing for the weight, only to be startled at how light the bag feels. He had taken Yuri to be an overpacker - this is unexpected. 

 

He lugs the bag up the stairs, only pausing to listen to his sister in one of the three upstairs bedrooms. Farida has always been the loudest member of his family - and the most excitable, and he hopes that Yuri isn’t too terribly overwhelmed. 

 

He sets Yuri’s suitcase inside of his room, for now. His mom had mentioned that she would prepare the guest bedroom for him, but he isn’t sure if it’s ready to go or not. Besides, if all else fails, Otabek really wouldn’t mind if his friend had to share a bed with him. 

 

_ It will probably be nice.  _

 

He shakes his head to dislodge the thought. 

 

‘ _ Yuri and I are just friends’  _ he tells himself, but even the voice in his head sounds weak.

 

He won’t deny that he  _ likes  _ Yuri. He probably always has - ever since those piercing, soldier-like eyes bore into him, transforming his life from the young age of thirteen - but he refuses to allow those feelings to change into anything more. They are just friends - and friends they will stay, unless Yuri makes a direct move. 

 

“ _ Otabek _ ?” 

 

Otabek groans internally. He loves his mom, really, but… she can be overbearing at times, and downright difficult at others, and really, out of all of his family, she’s the one he’s worried about for Yuri the most. 

 

Nevertheless, he slips out of his room and back down the stairs.

 

His mom, Zhenya, is in the kitchen. It’s always where she is - the kitchen is her domain, just like he claims the garage, Farida has the entirety of the upstairs, his dad has the living room, and Ayna has the study for her work. 

 

Zhenya frowns when he walks in though, brandishing a whisk in one hand, “ _ Where’s that friend of yours _ ?” 

 

She hadn’t really approved of Otabek bringing home a friend - if Yuri were Kazakh, or even Muslim, it would be different, though - and it had taken a lot of convincing. He’s still unsure if she even really does approve. It doesn’t matter. 

 

“ _ Upstairs. Farida claimed him. _ ” He says, crossing his arms, “ _ Ana, I’m begging you - please don’t scare him off. Yuri’s really sensitive to other people. _ ” 

 

“ _ So you've told me. _ ” Zhenya’s lips purse dangerously, “ _ I still don't understand why _ .” 

 

“ _ You will _ ,” Otabek states, almost confidently. 

 

The conversation is promptly interrupted, then, by the stomping of feet down the stairs.

 

“ _ Mama, Mama! You have to meet Yuri! He’s the coolest person ever!”  _ Farida squeals, her hand clasping an actually-smiling Yuri as she marches into the kitchen.

 

Zhenya scrunches her eyes and turns to Yuri, tapping the whisk against her leg. 

 

“Yuri, is it?” 

 

Yuri visibly swallows - Otabek can literally  _ pinpoint  _ the moment he goes from being actually happy to downright nervous - and nods, “Yes, ma’am.”

 

“Hmph. You may call me Zhenya while you’re here.” She states, and then turns back to whatever she’s cooking. 

 

Yuri still looks uncomfortable, and Otabek feels the need to butt in, “Yuri, do you want to see my room?” He gives the Russian a pointed stare, hoping his meaning comes across well enough.

 

The blonde seems to understand, “Yeah - I wanna see how big of a nerd you actually are.”

 

He’s teasing, of course, and Otabek can’t help but shoot out, “Not as big as you, Mr. I-read-but-only-in-secret.” 

 

Yuri sticks out his tongue at that, but wisely doesn’t say anything else - not until Otabek’s lead him up the stairs and through the door with his name painted in curvy black letters. 

 

“Huh. It’s very plain.” The Russian comments, glancing around the sparsely decorated bedroom with unfeigned interest. 

 

“Yeah. I never really took to decorating. Didn’t see the point - I’m leaving eventually.” Otabek confesses, and Yuri looks at him with mild bemusement. He doesn’t say anything though, and silence similar to the atmosphere of the taxi fills the air. 

 

Otabek needs to break that silence. It’s deafening, heavy, as he stands to the side awkwardly.

 

“So… my little sister thinks you’re the coolest person ever? How did you manage that?” He asks, almost amusedly. Farida is easy enough to please - but he’s still curious. 

 

Yuri blushes a deep red, “Her Russian isn’t great, but it was easy enough to communicate. We were really just looking at pictures of Potya.” He admits, hand reaching down to brush the pocket that concealed his phone from view. 

 

Otabek laughs, “She’s easily impressed. Definitely the most excitable member of my family.” 

 

Yuri grins, “Yeah, I can tell.” He falls silent again, but it’s more of a pensive silence - he’s chewing on his lip as his fingers cross and uncross repeatedly. It’s what he does when he’s thinking of how to phrase something - Otabek knows, because he does something similar. 

 

“Who else haven’t I met?” The teen finally asks, staring with heavy green eyes that indicate he’s more nervous than he lets on. 

 

Otabek thinks, “Family wise, you just have my dad and my older sister, Ayna. They’re both at work - My dad won’t get home until late, Ayna should be here around dinner time. My friends want to meet you too - since Wednesday is your birthday, I was thinking tomorrow we could do something with them?” He mentally curses himself for not having brought that up previously - he doesn’t even know if Yuri wants to meet his friends. 

 

To his surprise, though, Yuri just nods, “Yeah, sounds good.” He sounds far too passive to be serious, but also manages to sound definite - and definitely not joking. 

 

“I’ll call Dima later.” Otabek says. He might’ve said more, but the chime of a loud bell interrupts them, ringing once, twice, then stopping.

 

“What was that?” 

 

“Dinner’s ready. That means Ayna is probably here, too.” 

 

Sure enough, as they approach the table, his older sister is quietly reading a book in her seat, never once looking up. 

 

Otabek pulls out a chair for Yuri, allowing the blonde to sit, before sitting down himself. 

 

“ _ Is this your friend _ ?” Ayna asks without looking upwards. 

 

“ _ Yeah. Ayna, this is Yuri,”  _ He pauses, and then switches back to Russian, “Yuri, this is my older sister, Ayna.”

 

Yuri mumbles something - probably a ‘nice to meet you’ or something along those lines, but it’s inaudible.

 

Otabek understands why his friend is so uncomfortable. He isn’t used to being around people other than his rinkmates - he’s kind enough to strangers, but very awkward as he tries to make a good impression. 

 

Farida, much to her own chagrin, is forced to take a seat across from Yuri rather than beside him as she wanted to. The younger girl instead starts talking at Ayna, not noticing how the eldest is barely paying attention. 

 

Then Zhenya enters the dining room with a steaming pot, and all chatter stops. 

 

His mother takes a seat at the head of the table, placing the pot down in the center of the table and passing around silverware.

 

“ _ Bismillahi wa 'ala baraka-tillah,”  _ Zhenya murmurs. 

 

Otabek dips his head respectively. He’s not… exactly  _ religious,  _ despite his Muslim heritage and his family’s practices. It’s one of the many reasons of arguments between him and his mom - and a main reason why he wants to move out. 

 

Nevertheless, he stays respectful to his family - and that’s the only reason why he goes along with the short before-eating prayer. 

 

Yuri, however, seems lost in the Arabic words. Even from Otabek’s shortened perspective, he can see the confusion radiating from his friend, and he wishes he had mentioned religion to Yuri before now. 

 

Otabek repeats the words softly, just loud enough to let his mother know he is saying them. Farida murmurs the words with enthusiasm - as the youngest, she’s the most susceptible to religion, and she had chosen to become a devout Muslim. Ayna speaks with about as much interest as himself. 

 

“So Yuri,” Zhenya begins, after grace is finished and the servings have been passed out, “Have you ever been to Kazakhstan before?”

 

Yuri shakes his head, “No.”

 

“Hmph.”

 

“Ana,” Otabek says acidly, surprised at how bitter his tone is, “That doesn’t matter.” 

 

“Otabek,” Zhenya starts warningly, but she’s interrupted by Farida. 

 

“Yuri has cat! She is pretty!” The pre-teen chirps, “ _ Ana, his cat is seriously the cutest thing ever. He couldn’t have come to Kazakhstan - he has to take care of his cat!” _

 

“A cat?” 

 

Yuri nods again, “Her name’s Potya.”

 

It’s not, but the nickname is cute, and Otabek understands why Yuri would rather introduce his adorable Himalayan feline as Potya(rather than Puma Tiger Scorpion, which would probably make his mom dislike the blonde even more.)

 

“How long are you staying, Yuri?” Zhenya changes the conversation, her tone still as bitter as it was the first time. 

 

Yuri’s lips pinch together in a small, blank frown, “Five days.”

 

His responses are so lackluster, so short, it almost makes Otabek nervous. His friend, while quiet at times, is a very talkative, very mouthy person. He understands that Yuri is mostly nervous because he wants to make a good impression on Otabek’s family, but… 

 

Not this nervous, surely. 

 

The rest of the conversation falls in a similar way. Zhenya presses for answers that match her pre-conceived personality for Yuri, Yuri answers in short, clipped sentences that are both respectful and cold, and Farida chimes in whenever she can. Ayna stays out of the conversation, choosing instead to merely listen and observe. 

 

Dinner finishes later than Otabek would like, and then he’s leading Yuri up to the finally-finished bedroom, transferring the blonde’s bags over.

 

“It’s not much, I know, but it’s better than a couch.” He says meekly, but Yuri only shakes his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips. 

 

“Beka, this room is bigger and nicer than my bedroom back in Moscow. It’s fine.”

 

“If you insist.” 

 

The night passes without further hiccups, and, far sooner than Otabek anticipates, he’s driving his motorcycle over to Dima’s house, Yuri hanging on tightly behind him. 

 

“ _ Otabek! You made it! I thought we would never hang out now that school’s nearly out.”  _ Dima greets when they arrive, reaching out for a handshake that would seem strange if it weren’t  _ Dima.  _

 

_ But Yuri doesn’t know that,  _ he thinks wistfully, as he returns the handshake and steps aside, allowing Yuri to be visible. 

 

The blonde seems even more nervous now. It’s strange - he never struck Otabek as the type to actually be anxious meeting new people, not with his  _ I-don’t-give-a-fuck  _ attitude with just about everything.

 

“Yuri, this is Dmitri.” He introduces, just as Dima catches Yuri’s eye and grins. 

 

“Call me Dima. So this is the famous Yuri I’ve heard so much about?” 

 

Otabek blushes as Yuri turns to give a questioning glance. 

 

“Yep, that’s me. I didn’t realize Otabek talks about me.” 

 

Dima’s grin widens, “Oh yeah, all the time. He never shuts up. I swear, the rest of us were left in the dust after you showed up.”

 

The Russian chuckles softly. Otabek just feels his embarrassment levels rising, and chooses to not-so-subtly bury his face in his jacket to hide the flaming redness. 

 

“Come, come, Yuri. Lemme introduce you!”

 

The Kazakh drags the Russian over to the living room, where three more people sit. Otabek immediately recognizes them - Ruslan and Aiman, fraternal twins, sit together, bickering, while Inzhu, Ruslan’s girlfriend, laughs at them. Despite being merely fraternal, Ruslan and Aiman look and act very similar - they both have glossy black hair(although Aiman’s is much longer), deep brown eyes, and tanned skin. Inzhu has a more European look to her - with lighter skin, pale, dirty blonde hair, and bright blue eyes. 

 

“ _ Ruslan, Aiman, Inzhu, this is Yuri! You know, the one Bek’s been rambling about for five years now.”  _ Dima smirks. 

 

“ _ Ah, the famous Yuri! I thought we’d never get the chance to meet him.”  _ Ruslan stands, offering Yuri a cocky smile that sends sparks of something strange down Otabek’s spine. He doesn’t know what’s wrong.

 

“Hello, Yuri. I’m Ruslan. These two ladies are my sister, Aiman, and my girlfriend, Inzhu.” 

 

Aiman stands as well, her own expression guarded, “It’s good to finally meet you.” She doesn’t sound very serious, and Otabek swallows.

 

“We’ve heard so much about you!” Inzhu croons, reaching out to grab Yuri’s hand, “I love your hair, it’s so pretty!” 

 

Yuri’s cheeks flush red, and Otabek can tell he’s overwhelmed. Before he can say anything, though, Inzhu’s dragging him deeper into the house with a loud, “ _ Dima! Help me, will you? _ ” 

 

Dima offers Otabek an apologetic grin before dashing off in their direction, leaving Otabek alone with the twins. 

 

“ _ So, who else is coming?”  _ He asks, taking a seat on the couch. 

 

“ _ Bolat’s coming - he’s bringing Kamila. Azat’s probably coming too - he said he wasn’t sure.”  _ Ruslan replies, slinging an arm around Aiman - she bats it off immediately. 

 

“ _ Save your affection for your girlfriend, Lanya.”  _ She scolds. 

 

Otabek chuckles softly. He’s missed his friends… but, yet, at the same time, he wishes Inzhu and Dima would bring Yuri back out. He wants to make sure the blonde isn’t too uncomfortable. 

 

They come out eventually. Yuri’s hair is now elegantly braided and pinned atop his head - to the point of him slightly stumbling from being out of balance. It’s amusing to see one of the world’s best figure skaters losing his balance so easily. 

 

Ruslan whistles, causing four glares in his direction. 

 

“ _ Idiot. _ ” Aiman growls. 

 

Otabek pins a dangerous glare on Ruslan, but shifts his gaze a little to see the matching expression on Yuri’s face. The blonde looks murderous, but, surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything. 

 

“Seriously, though, your hair is so pretty, Yuri,” Inzhu gushes, and, judging by the look on Dima’s face, she’s been talking about his hair for awhile, “I don’t understand how Russians have such nice hair. I mean, even Dima's is nicer than mine, although he refuses to grow it out.” 

 

Said person scowls, “ _ I am not growing out my hair so you can live out your sick fantasies, Inzhu. You can get your boyfriend to do that.”  _

 

“ _ Ruslan’s not Russian.” _

 

_ “Neither am I!”  _

 

_ “But you’re, like, mostly Russian, so it still counts.” _

 

Otabek snorts. This conversation isn’t anything new. Beauty queen Inzhu has an obsession with hair - part of why she’s going to beauty school come fall - and Dima does have nice hair. 

 

“ _ Inzhu, darling, leave Dima alone.”  _ Ruslan chimes in, seemingly unbothered by the glare Yuri is still giving him as he stands to sling an arm around Inzhu’s shoulders. 

 

“ _ Yeah. Please. You two bickering gives me a headache.”  _ Aiman complains, pressing a hand to her head. 

 

“ _ I thought Bolat and Kamila were coming - and maybe Azat.”  _ Otabek states in an attempt to change the subject. 

 

Inzhu makes a face, “ _ I don’t think Kamila’s coming. She’s kind of a loner - only really in our friend group because she had the good luck to snag Bolat.”  _

 

_ “We know you don’t like her, Inzya, you don’t have to make excuses.”  _ Aiman snickers. 

 

“ _ I still don’t think she’s going to come. She doesn’t like us, either.” _

 

Otabek rolls his eyes, and he turns to talk to Yuri - only the blonde isn’t where he last saw him. 

 

“Yuri?” 

 

Somehow, at some time during the conversation, the blonde had completely disappeared… which is strange. 

 

“ _ I’ll be right back.” _

 

Ruslan waved a hand dismissively, watching the conversation from the outside as he had. 

 

Otabek stands, and he wanders through the house. It’s smaller - Dima’s renting the house, after all - but he doesn’t know where to start looking. 

 

Eventually, he finds Yuri in one of the bedrooms. Inzhu’s bag is shoved in one corner - it must be how Yuri knew where to go - and he’s sitting on the bed, head in his hands uncharacteristically.

 

“Yuri?” Otabek asks tentatively, “Are you alright?”

 

Yuri makes a low sound in the back of his throat before shaking his head, “I’m fine.”

 

“Which is why you left,” He replies sarcastically, before mentally slapping himself. It’s clear that something’s wrong with his friend - something he’s  _ missing.  _

 

“Sorry. That was… I’m sorry.” He steps closer, sitting on the bed next to the Russian, “What’s wrong?” 

 

Yuri doesn’t answer for a couple minutes, and they pass slowly, before finally lifting his head.

 

“I don’t know why I came.” 

 

“What? Why?” 

 

“I don’t… I don’t  _ belong  _ here, Otabek. I just… your family and your friends are so important to you, and they’re here, and I don’t… I shouldn’t be here. I don’t belong.” 

 

“Nonsense.” Otabek insists, because Yuri sounds so dejected, and he has to cheer him up, “You’re important to me too, Yuri. Of course you belong.”

 

“I don’t even speak Kazakh! I have no clue what’s going on here, and I just…” Yuri fades out, his eyes staring out into space. 

 

“And that’s my fault. I should’ve thought of the fact that you don’t know Kazakh, and that’s okay. Inzhu already loves you, Yuri. I’m pretty sure Dima does, too. You are welcome here, whether you like it or not.”

 

Yuri doesn’t acknowledge his statement, his gaze still far-off.

 

“Yuri. Look at me.” When his brown eyes finally meet the bright green, he takes Yuri’s hands softly, “You are important to me. I promise.” 

 

“Okay.” Yuri says meekly. 

 

The subject isn’t dropped there, but Otabek can tell things are better after he asks his friends to speak in Russian. Inzhu and Yuri get into a heated conversation about the best ways to braid hair, while Ruslan teases them and Dima ignores the conversation completely. Bolat and Kamila don’t come, but it’s okay, Yuri will have other chances to meet them. 

 

When Friday comes(after a ginormous celebration on March 1st), it’s with a reluctance to leave. 


	3. The Third Promise

Otabek gets the call at 3am. 

 

He and Yuri have gotten to the point where timezones don’t matter. Despite practice starting in the early morning, they’ll both stay up for hours, just talking to each other. 

 

Things between them are good. Better than good, actually. On Yuri’s seventeenth birthday - which was a couple of months ago - they finally crossed the lines between friends and boyfriends, and it’s been  _ great.  _ Besides, you know, the distance. The distance sucks. 

 

They’ve made it work, though. 

 

Yuri is usually very mindful of the time difference between them. Usually, the only time Otabek’s up at 3am is if they’ve talked for hours before. Yuri usually doesn’t call any later than 1am his time. 

 

He doesn’t usually call in the first place. It’s usually Otabek who initiates the call, since he’s the last one to leave practice.

 

Immediately, when he answers the phone call, he knows something’s wrong. 

 

“Yuri?” 

 

Yuri’s sniffling into the receiver. He hasn’t spoken yet - he doesn’t need to. The wet sound of his sniffles and sobs is enough to make Otabek’s heart twinge painfully. 

 

“Yuri, what’s wrong?” 

 

“...my grandfather… “ The Russian mumbles more words, but they’re inaudible nonsense, probably that strange mixture of Russian and English he slips into when he’s angry. 

 

_ Or upset.  _

 

“I’m on my way.” Otabek says, and it’s true - he’s immediately pulling up plane tickets on his computer.

 

Because Nikolai Plisetsky means the world to Yuri, and if something’s happened bad enough to send him to the hospital, Yuri  _ needs  _ him there.

 

“Beka, you don’t have to-”

 

“Yes, I do. Is someone with you now?” 

 

Yuri sniffles again, “Katsudon’s with me.”

 

“Good. I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?” 

 

The response to his question must be nonverbal, because Yuri merely hangs up. By the time the call is over, Otabek has a plane ticket bought, and he starts to pack. 

 

The flight seems to take forever. 

 

He lands in Moscow a good eight hours after the phone call - too long, far too long. At this point, his nerves are racing faster than his heart beats - he’s worried, anxious, for Yuri. In eight hours, anything could’ve happened, and the thought makes him race out of the terminal, walking as quickly to the bag terminal as the swarming crowds will allow him. 

 

Time flies quickly, and, within seconds it seems, he has his bags, and he’s fetching a taxi from outside the airport. It’s a good thing he speaks Russian - he begs the taxi driver to drive as quickly as he can, and the man complies, driving above the speed limit almost the entire way to the hospital. 

 

Finally - nine or so hours after the phone call - Otabek arrives at the hospital nearly dead on his feet. He had managed to get some sleep on the plane, but not much, and he’s still extremely tired. 

 

Still, Yuri comes first. He always comes first. 

 

He walks to the receptionist, about to ask where Nikolai’s room is, but is interrupted by a soft call of his name. Turning, he sees Viktor, pacing near the hallway entrance. 

 

The silver-haired man stops pacing, his eyes clouded with obvious concern, “You’re here. Come on.” 

 

Silently, Otabek follows Viktor through the hospital corridors, up staircases and through waiting rooms, until Viktor stops in front of a door. 

 

Two chairs are set up outside the door, in an attempt to make a mock waiting room. Yuri is curled up in one of them, staring blankly at the door. Yuuri is bent over, sitting in the other chair while gently running fingers through Yuri’s hair. 

 

“Yura?” Otabek asks tentatively, taking a step towards the seat.

 

The blonde seems to snap out of his trance, turning his head to look at Otabek before immediately standing up, running over to him. Before the Kazakh had time to react, the Russian threw arms around him, hands clutching at his shoulders and his shirt. 

 

“Beka.” Yuri sobs, his voice sounding just as broken as it did in the phone call. 

 

Otabek wraps his arms around the smaller male, rubbing his back gently and stroking his hair. Yuri’s trembling, his entire body shaking with the force of his sobs. 

 

“I don’t know what to do.” He whispers, his voice choked, “I can’t lose him, Beka, I can’t.” 

 

“It’ll be okay.” Otabek finds himself saying softly, pulling his boyfriend closer into his grasp. 

 

Yuri shakes his head, pulling back and rubbing at his eyes, “I’m serious, Beka… I can’t be alone!”

 

“You aren’t alone, Yura,” Otabek whispers, giving Yuri a small smile, “Viktor and Yuuri are here for you, aren’t they?”

 

Yuri makes an unhappy noise in the back of his throat, but he nods. 

 

“Yakov and Lilia care about you, don’t they?” 

 

Another nod, slowly and more tentative this time. 

 

“And you have your rinkmates - Georgi and Milla?” 

 

“Yes, Beka.” He almost sounds frustrated. 

 

“And you have me. You’re not alone, Yura.” Otabek insists. 

 

Yuri still looks skeptical, “Promise?” 

 

“I promise.” Otabek squeezes his hands, smiling at him. 

 

“We’re here for you, Yuri.” Yuuri adds, standing up to gently wrap an arm around Yuri’s shoulders. 

 

“You’re stuck with us.” Viktor laughs, thoroughly trapping Yuri in between the two older men.

 

Yuri sniffs, scowling slightly without any heat, “Idiots.” Nevertheless, he allows the three men to hold him, still shaking slightly. 

 

Otabek doesn’t know how long they stay there, grouped together in a giant huddle. It feels like hours. 

 

Their huddle is interrupted, after at least twenty minutes, by the sound of the door opening. Yuri immediately tenses, and Viktor pulls away, obviously prepared to do all the talking. 

 

The doctor steps out, his expression painfully neutral. 

 

“Well?” Yuri asks, his voice bitter and clipped and slightly frantic. Otabek keeps an arm wrapped around him, gently rubbing his shoulders in an attempt to calm him down.

 

The doctor’s face shifts, then, offering the blonde a smile, “Nikolai is going to be fine.” 

 

The relief is so obvious in Yuri’s body language, and Otabek knows that the Russian isn’t going to hear anything else. He squeezes Yuri’s shoulders slightly, giving him a small smile that he isn’t able to see. 

 

The doctor keeps talking, mostly in hushed whispers, to Viktor, so Otabek can’t hear. He doesn’t care - not because he doesn’t care about Nikolai, which is does, he cares  _ a lot  _ \- because Yuri’s fine, Nikolai’s fine, they’re going to be  _ fine.  _

 

“I told you.” He ends up whispering to Yuri, which earns him a jab to the stomach. 


	4. Fourth Promise

Russia is weird. 

 

Otabek’s known this for awhile, of course, but living in St. Petersburg is a completely different story. 

 

It starts simple. His coach retires unexpectedly in the middle of the season. He needs a coach. Yakov offers, of course. Otabek’s pretty well-known in the skating world - and Yakov’s pretty well-known for coaching the best skaters in the world. 

 

So bam, just like that, Otabek finds himself moving to Russia. He gets lucky - the apartment directly next to Yuri’s is open, so when he moves, he ends up being next-door neighbors with his boyfriend. 

 

Needless to say, Yuri had been ecstatic. Finally, after two long years of suffering through a long-distance relationship, they could be together. Train together, eat together… even sleep together, if time permitted. 

 

There is some fallout to it, of course. For one, he gets strange looks on the streets - he doesn’t understand why. Surely, he’s not the first foreigner to cross the streets of St. Petersburg. He wonders if it’s the motorcycle. 

 

Yuri buys him a new motorcycle as a housewarming gift, despite Otabek’s request for there not to be a gift. His old one had stayed in Almaty, with his very reluctant parents and very eager sister. Farida’s about to be sixteen, and she’s been begging Otabek to teach her how to drive a motorcycle. Of course, his mother disapproved. 

 

His mother disapproves a lot of things, though. Including his relationship with Yuri. And his move to Russia. He doesn’t care very much anymore. 

 

His day begins with training. He and Yuri walk to the rink together - they can, being neighbors and all - and pick up breakfast on the way. At the rink, Milla has individual time first, and then Yuri, and then Otabek. Viktor and Yuuri also come to the rink, but as coaches instead of competitors. Yuuri had only just retired. 

 

He breaks for lunch around 1pm, and he lets Yuri drag him across the city bringing him to all the best cafes and restaurants. The Russian seems to know what he’s talking about, because the food is always amazing. 

 

Afterwards, they split up. Otabek goes to the gym so he can work on his upper body strength. He’ll admit he rather enjoys working out - although having Yuri gawk at him is an added bonus. 

 

Nighttime comes with dinner - the only meal he actually cooks at home. Sometimes, Viktor and Yuuri invite him and Yuri over for a home-cooked Japanese meal. It’s rarer than he had originally thought, though - the couple were trying to adopt a kid, and they both rarely had downtime. 

 

Russia may be weird, but he feels… happier, here. While he does miss his sisters - mostly Farida, who had been the most upset at him leaving - his heart no longer aches at the end of Skype calls. He loves Yuri - has loved him for a good eight years now, whether or not he realized it at first - and that alone had been enough to get him to leave Kazakhstan behind. 

 

Which is why, inevitably, when Yuri asked him to straight up move in with him… How could he say no? 

 

_ “Come on, Beka. The rent will be cheaper with both of us paying it, I have a spare bedroom if you want it, and we can be together all the time. Please?”  _

 

_ “Okay.” _

 

He moves into Yuri’s apartment as soon as his lease is over, and it’s nice. He’s slept with Yuri before, but only in fleeting moments. During the years of dating before the move, they rarely saw each other outside of competitions - which didn’t exactly leave room for cuddling. 

 

Their routine changes once again, but Otabek really doesn’t mind. Yuri, against common belief, is a peaceful, still sleeper - he’ll end up snuggling into Otabek’s side most of the time, but that’s it. 

 

Until Otabek’s awoken, two weeks after moving next door, with a writhing Russian. 

 

More accurately, he’s woken up by a series of sharp jabs to his ribs - a flailing elbow, the sharp drive of a knee, etcetera. It’s enough to jar him out of his peaceful slumber. 

 

Otabek rubs his eyes, allowing them to get adjusted to the darkness in the room. He’s still amazingly tired - but something is so obviously wrong, so he shrugs off the haze that comes with waking up at an ungodly time and sits up in bed.

 

Yuri seems to never dream - he always wakes up as rested as the sport they play allows him to. He claims that he always sleeps deeply - and, if he dreams, he does not remember them. 

 

It’s clearly not the case now, though. 

 

Yuri’s squirming, his body language tensing consistently as his hands clench the blankets and sheets beneath him. He’s somehow rolled all the way to the edge of the bed - which is how he managed to kick Otabek. 

 

Otabek frowns, worry pooling into his stomach. He leans over, gently nudging Yuri with his hand, “Yura?” 

 

Yuri flinches away from his touch, his eyes still closed. He doesn’t speak, but he whimpers softly, and that sound tugs at Otabek’s heartstrings. The worry pools deeper. 

 

He shakes Yuri’s shoulder harder, gritting his teeth in concern when Yuri doesn’t immediately open his eyes. The blonde looks pained, ill, and it scares the Kazakh more than he would like to admit. 

 

“Yura!” 

 

Finally, Yuri’s eyes snap open, and he jolts upwards in bed, away from Otabek. He doesn’t look at his boyfriend - not at all - and just sits there rubbing his arms, trembling.

 

“Yura, what happened?” Otabek regrets the words as soon as he says them, as Yuri flinches away from him with a defenseless anger marring his beautiful eyes. 

 

“Go away.” 

 

“I’m not leaving you.” 

 

Yuri mumbles something then, the words unintelligible. 

 

“What did you say?” 

 

“I said fuck off!” 

 

Otabek would’ve normally been angry at the words - Yuri didn’t swear at him often, not anymore - but there’s no heat in his words. This… this isn’t angry Yuri, this is  _ scared  _ Yuri, and the difference low-key terrifies him. 

 

“I don’t know what happened in your dream,” He starts to say, even as Yuri attempts to shoot him a death glare(but fails miserably), “I don’t know what happened, but… Yura, you know I’ll never hurt you, right?” 

 

Yuri just looks away, and that hurts more than Otabek’s willing to admit. 

 

“Yura. Yuri. Please look at me.” 

 

The blonde finally shifts his gaze back, and Otabek can see the fear in them clear as day.

 

“I’m not going to leave you. I would never,  _ ever  _ hurt you. Not physically, not mentally,” He promises, reaching out to very lightly take Yuri’s hands. 

 

Yuri stares down at their entangled hands, his expression unreadable, before he practically flies forward, yanking his hands back to wrap them around Otabek’s chest, his entire body shaking. 

 

Otabek rubs his back comfortingly, stroking his hair with his other hand. He presses his lips against the blonde’s temple, forcing down the still-residing worry and molding it into relief. It was just a bad dream. Nothing to worry about. 

 

Yuri falls asleep again within minutes, and Otabek chuckles fondly, carefully lowering the both of them while still keeping his arms curled around his boyfriend’s body. 

 

He drifts off only minutes after Yuri does. 


	5. Fifth Promise

He’s been planning for months now. 

 

It hadn’t been a hasty decision. After five years of happily dating, Otabek feels like it’s time they finally become something…  _ more.  _

 

So, he goes online, finds what he’s looking for, and, after months and months of scheduling, building up confidence, and talking to Viktor, Yuuri, Yakov, and Lilia, the day he’s been planning has finally come up. 

 

It’s their anniversary - specifically, May 13th, a day contained in the week Yuri spent with him five years ago. After that first year, it became a thing - Yuri would come down for week just after off-season, spending time with his family and friends and with  _ him.  _

 

Usually, they celebrate the day with a nice dinner(and sometimes a little bit  _ more _ ), but today… Otabek has  _ plans  _ for today. 

 

He’s already arranged with Yakov for them to have the day off. Yakov knows what he plans to do - it was the only way he agreed. So, the night of the 12th, when Yuri’s already laying down in bed, he changes the time of his alarm and disables Yuri’s completely. They still need to wake up at a certain time - the reservation for the Dacha Cafe was at noon, and he knows Yuri will want to get all dolled up. He always does. 

 

Otabek’s woken up with the frantic shaking of his shoulder. He groans, opening his eyes to a confused green gaze.

 

“We’re late for practice! Did you turn my alarm off or something?” Yuri asks, his eyes narrowed. 

 

Otabek yawns, “I did, in fact, turn your alarm off. We have the day off today.” 

 

“Since when?” 

 

“Since I called Yakov and Viktor and asked them.” Yakov is still technically Yuri’s coach, but Viktor is his choreographer and often time spends his days at the rink helping Yuri out. 

 

Yuri still looks grumpy, but Otabek really doesn’t mind. He carefully sits up, the pulls the blonde into a soft, passionate kiss. 

 

The kiss only lasts for a couple of seconds(they’re both still so sleepy), and Otabek smiles at Yuri when they pull back, “Happy anniversary, Yura.” 

 

“Mm.” Despite his frantic actions earlier, it’s painstakingly obvious that Yuri’s still tired. He glances over at his phone - it’s still only 8am. So used to waking up at 6, it’s clear why the Russian had woken up so early - well, earlyish. 

 

“Go back to sleep, koten’ka. We still have a couple of hours before it’s time to go.” Otabek tells him, lightly stroking Yuri’s hair. 

 

“Time to go where?” Yuri yawns as he slips back down into the bed, his eyes already closing. 

 

Otabek presses a kiss to Yuri’s hair, “You’ll see.” 

 

Yuri mumbles something under his breath, but he’s already dozing off again. Minutes later, the blonde is completely asleep. 

 

_ He must’ve been really tired, to fall asleep so quickly.  _ Otabek thinks, lightly stroking his boyfriend’s hair in concern,  _ I hope everything’s okay.  _

 

He doesn’t know how long he sits there. Actually, he does - two and a half hours - but the time flies and he almost thinks he had dozed off as well before the alarm goes off, sending him jolting upwards. 

 

Yuri groans, stirring at the sharp cry of the alarm, “Beka?” 

 

Otabek recovers quickly, offering his boyfriend a smile, “Time to wake up. I have a nice day planned.” 

 

The blonde huffs at that, “You didn’t have to plan anything-” 

 

“Yes, I did. Now get dressed. I’ll let you get ready.” Otabek presses a kiss to Yuri’s cheek, and he silently leaves the room, waiting.

 

He knows Yuri well enough to know that the blonde will want time to actually make up his hair and find something nice to wear, which is why he gives Yuri time. Sure enough, 30 minutes later, Yuri comes out with his long hair pulled up in a braided bun, wearing a pair of ripped black jeans and a silky lime green shirt that brought out his eyes. He looks amazing - Otabek wants to ravage him, but he can control himself. 

 

“How do I look?” 

 

“Stunning.” Otabek kisses Yuri’s cheek lightly, “Let me get dressed real quick, and we’ll go.”

 

“Where?” 

 

“It’s a surprise. Don’t worry.” With that, he slips back into the bedroom to quickly change into a simple pair of jeans and dark shirt, along with his nicest leather jacket. It isn’t much of an outfit, but he’ll manage. 

 

Finally, he grabs his motorcycle keys and checks his watch. 11:30 - the reservation is for noon, and the boat tour that will actually take them outside the city into the rural areas starts at 1:00. 

 

“Ready?” 

 

Yuri had just finished sliding on a pair of boots, and he offers Otabek a thumbs-up with a smirk. 

 

Otabek smiles, “Then let’s go.” He opens the door, and gestures for Yuri to exit first. 

 

The cafe is only a short ride away - Otabek picked it for that reason. That, and its resemblance to the cafe they had eaten at in Barcelona. He had spent hours meticulously searching for the perfect place to eat lunch - or, rather, perfect  _ places _ for a date, because this isn’t just their five-year anniversary. No, he is going to do it. 

 

He pulls the motorcycle into a parking spot, turning the engine off and allowing Yuri to get off first. Despite having been on many rides since that first day in Barcelona, the blonde never hesitated to wrap arms around Otabek’s waist - it’s comforting, in a way. Still, this means that Yuri has to get off first - and he does so carefully, slipping his helmet off and fretting at his hair to make sure it had stayed up. 

 

“Where are we?” 

 

Otabek offers his boyfriend a smile, “Dacha Cafe. Come on.” He extends his arm out, and Yuri catches his hand, entangling their fingers together as they walk inside. 

 

The cafe is very homey, as the name suggests. It gives the appearance of being a dining room in a Soviet-era dacha, with several private rooms branching off of the main reservation. 

 

“Good afternoon, sirs,” Greets one of the servers in Russian, “May I help you?” 

 

“Reservation for Otabek, please.” Otabek replies. 

 

“Of course. Right this way.” The server leads the two through the room into one of the private rooms, where the food has already been set up around the wooden table. 

 

“If you need anything, just ring this bell.” The server, whose nametag reads Mikhail, says with a warm smile, before turning and exiting the room. 

 

“What the fuck, Beka?” Yuri breathes, his eyes glittering. He turns and glances helplessly around the room, those beautiful eyes of his widening in shock and wonder. 

 

“...Do you like it?” Otabek asks shyly, pulling out a chair for Yuri before sitting himself. 

 

Yuri sits down, and he rubs at his temples - something he only does when he’s overwhelmed, “Beka, this is  _ amazing.  _ How did you…?” 

 

“I may have asked Yakov and Viktor.” He confesses, “I just… this is our fifth anniversary. I wanted it to be special.” 

 

Yuri sniffs, then, “You’re sappy as fuck, you know that?” 

 

“So I’ve been told.” 

 

The food is simple - platters of Russian dishes Otabek doesn’t recognize, and some that he does - like syrniki, pirozhki, and borscht. Simple, light dishes - and plenty to choose from. 

 

In front of their seats are a plate and simple cutlery. 

 

“I didn’t realize St. Petersburg had anything resembling a buffet.” Yuri murmurs, even as he cautiously piles food onto his plate, “Lilia will kill me if she knows I’m eating this.” 

 

“It’s offseason. I think you can afford a couple extra calories.” Otabek remarks, choosing a couple of lighter dishes to put onto his plate. It’s not that he isn’t hungry, but excitement, adrenaline, and, of course, nervousness for what’s going to happen later keeps his stomach churning. 

 

“How much did all of this cost, anyways?” Yuri asks, taking a bite of his food. In the seven years Otabek’s known the blonde, his eating habits have remarkably tamed - he no longer attacks his food, but picks at it almost daintily.

 

“Don’t worry about that.” 

 

“It must’ve been expensive, though, Beka.” Yuri chides, even as Otabek shakes his head. 

 

“Please, Yura. I’ve been saving up for this for awhile. It’s okay.”  _ You can pay me back later.  _

 

With a sigh, Yuri relents, focusing instead on finishing his plate. 

 

They eat in a comfortable silence. It’s one of the (many) reasons why Otabek’s so drawn to Yuri - they’re able to just sit there, not talking, and not feel awkward. The silence lasts until they finish eating - and by then, it’s nearly time to leave. Otabek doesn’t want them to miss the tour.

 

At 12:45 - already finished with his plate - he looks up at Yuri, “Are you finished?” 

 

“Yeah, just about. Why?” 

 

“It’s time to go. Come on!” As soon as the blonde stands up, Otabek eagerly takes his hand, then practically drags him through the cafe and back outside. It feels nice to be the one doing the dragging for once.  

 

“Should I even question this?” Yuri asks as Otabek carefully swings himself onto his motorcycle, jumping on himself. 

 

“Nope.” 

 

“Figures.” The blonde sighs, but when Otabek glances over his shoulder, the Russian is grinning. 

 

He loves that smile, he does. 

 

Within the span of ten or so minutes, the pier comes into view, the small tour boat already pulled up to the dock. Otabek had to pay extra to make sure that the two of them would be alone - not to mention the need for space so he can tow his motorcycle across the water as well. 

 

Yuri gapes as they pull up into the dock, Otabek pulling the bike up and to a stop so that the two can dismount. 

 

“What are we…?” 

 

“A tour. On the Baltic Sea. If I had more time, I would’ve planned a full-length cruise to Spain so we could go back to Barcelona, but neither of us had that kind of time.” He explains. 

 

Yuri gazes at him with wide eyes, but there’s an unexplainable fond look in them, and the blonde chuckles. 

 

“Sap.” 

 

Otabek presses a light kiss to Yuri’s nose, “That’s why you love me though.” 

 

Yuri seems to consider that, his head tilted, “...true.” 

 

They board the little boat quickly. One of the attendants pulls the motorcycle onto the deck, settling it in a mostly inconspicuous location. 

 

“How long is this tour?” 

 

“Not long,” Otabek assures him, “Just an hour or two. I thought it would be relaxing.” 

 

Yuri hums, settling down in a chair, “It’s definitely… nice. I don’t think I’ve had a break like this in awhile… not since Nationals.”

 

They fall back into silence, comfortable silence. The boat had began moving during their short conversation, and the wind whips Otabek’s hair, stinging his eyes. Nevertheless, it’s nice - peaceful. The same wind that rips at him also stirs the sea, and the only sounds are its swish and the call of birds echoing across the waters. 

 

It was a risky move, this tour. Otabek knows this. However, the spot he had picked for later is a long drive from St. Petersburg, and he didn’t want to take a train. 

 

The hours pass like minutes, and then the boat is dropping them off in rural Russia, miles outside of St. Petersburg. It’s quiet - almost too quiet. However, the favor he had asked of Viktor, Yuuri, and Milla had been accomplished - a picnic table with flowers and a basket of what was presumably dishes are set up just outside the small pier. Candles are lit along the table - meaning that it was recently set up. He has no doubt that the three are still in the area - probably watching. 

 

He doesn’t care. 

 

It’s only four in the afternoon - not sunset, as he originally wanted - but he doesn’t think he can wait any longer. Anticipation and nerves are eating him alive, and he doesn’t know how much longer he could last without accidentally spilling something, anyways. 

 

“What is this?” Yuri asks as they approach the table, “You know, I’m kinda getting tired of asking you questions.” 

 

“Then don’t.” Otabek quips, gesturing for the blonde to sit before sitting himself. 

 

Yuri rolls his eyes, taking a seat, “When did you have time for all of this?” 

 

“Don’t doubt my abilities.” 

 

The Russian fixes him with a deadpan stare, “We just spent four hours on a boat. I know you did not have the time to fix this up before.” 

 

“I… may have gotten some help.” He confesses, not even the slightest bit guiltily. He looks inside the basket that Yuuri had provided for them, drawing out plates, cutlery, and two closed boxes that had to contain food. The Japanese male had promised to cook something they both would enjoy - cook, because homemade food would definitely mean more to Yuri than something store-bought. 

 

He offers one of the boxes with a ‘y’ scribbled on the top to Yuri, who immediately opens it. Otabek can’t see what’s inside, but Yuri looks back up at him. 

 

“You asked Katsudon to cook?” 

 

Over the years, while Yuri’s temper and bad-mouthing had tamed considerably, he hadn’t dropped the nickname for Yuuri. However, it became something more fond - not that Yuri would probably ever admit that. 

 

“He offered, actually.” Otabek says, opening his own box. Immediately, the aroma of the freshly made katsudon wafted into the air, and, judging from Yuri’s expression, the blonde had the same dish. It made sense. They had both tried a variety of Japanese meals through the years, but katsudon remained Yuri’s favorite. 

 

“I can’t believe you did this for me.” The Russian murmurs, even as he takes a bite of the meal. 

 

Otabek offers him a warm smile, “Why wouldn’t I?” 

 

Yuri bites his lip, and he shrugs, “It’s very thought out.” 

 

“Isn’t everything I do thought out?” 

 

“Are you going to keep refuting my statements with questions?” 

 

“Are you bothered by it?” 

 

They look at each other, and Yuri laughs, his expression so genuinely  _ happy  _ it nearly melts Otabek’s heart. 

 

The katsudon is eaten quickly - or, at least, Yuri’s is. Otabek is still fairly full from lunch, and his stomach is curled up in a knot so tightly he isn’t sure he could keep anything down. He makes a show of eating instead, saving the still warm food for later. 

 

The sun isn’t going to set for hours. It’s May - everything is later, and when he had looked up the times for the sunset, he was dismayed to find it wasn’t supposed to set until 9pm. That’s okay, though. He doesn’t need a sunset to be romantic - even if it would be a nice homage to Barcelona. 

 

“Are you finished?” He asks Yuri, when the blonde’s movements had slowed. 

 

“Yeah. Why? Got something else planned?” Yuri asks, almost teasingly. 

 

Otabek smiles, hoping that he can hide the painstaking nerves he’s feeling, “Something like that. Come on.” 

 

He stands up, walks over to the other side, and takes Yuri’s hand, helping him up. He doesn’t let go of the blonde’s hand though - he doesn’t want to. Yuri’s hand is soft and thin and so small compared to his own… it’s nice. Oddly enough, it’s nice. 

 

Otabek leads Yuri down through the fields to a small, wooden bridge that stretches across an even smaller creek. Discovering the bridge had been an accident - Otabek had been scouting around for the perfect place, and he had stumbled upon it. He’s glad he did - it’s perfect. 

 

“Okay. Close your eyes.” He tells Yuri once they’re standing on the bridge, facing the Russian wildlife. 

 

For the first time that day, Yuri complies without saying a word - his eyes flutter shut and he looks peaceful. Serene. The sunlight catches his hair - barely visible due to the braided bun - and his clothes, making him glow in the radiant light. He looks like an angel, and Otabek swallows down the still present nerves. He knows Yuri will accept. He knows this. 

 

He’s still scared, though.

 

He takes a deep breath. 

 

“Yura, I don’t know how long I’ve loved you.” Honest enough. It’s a good first statement - the opening to a speech if he so desires, bold enough to stand on its own if he can’t come up with anything else to say. 

 

Yuri makes a muffled noise in the back of his throat, but he doesn’t say anything. He seems to recognize that Otabek wants to speak - and he’s allowing him to do so. 

 

Otabek continues. 

 

“I could say I knew I loved you when we first started dating, five years ago, but I think that would be a lie. I could say I loved you when you first came to Almaty, but that would be a lie too.” He pauses, thinking, as he quietly slips out the box - the same box that had been such a burden the entire day. As he takes out the box, some of that burden eases, making him feel weightless, because  _ this is really happening.  _

 

“I could say I’ve loved you since I first met you, and I guess that wouldn’t be a lie.” Otabek chuckles dryly, and he’s sure that Yuri would’ve rolled his eyes if he could. 

 

He clears his throat, “I guess, what I’m trying to say is, I really do love you, Yura. You’re the light in my world - heck, you  _ are  _ my world. I want to be at your side forever - through the good, through the bad, through every fight, because I  _ love  _ you. I will always love you - this I promise.” 

 

He, as silently as he can, opens the box, pointing it in Yuri’s direction, “You can open your eyes now.” 

 

He watches Yuri - who looks awestruck at Otabek’s speech - open his eyes, blinking, before he catches sight of the ring Otabek’s offering. 

 

“Are you going to marry me or not?” He finds himself asking. 

 

Yuri stares for a good while, before he sucks in a breath, “You fucking  _ sap.”  _ He lurches forward, nearly catching Otabek off-guard as he wraps thin arms around him, shaking. 

 

“Of course I’m going to marry you, idiot.” He breathes, and Otabek’s chuckling breathlessly as he slides the sparkling aquamarine ring onto Yuri’s finger. The color reflects Yuri’s eyes - and it happens to be the birthstone for March, so Otabek had figured it would be a good fit. 

 

Then Yuri’s hands are wrapping around his waist and chest, and they’re about the same height now so the blonde merely has to lean forward to press his lips against Otabek’s own. One arm shifts to wrap around his neck, and Otabek embraces Yuri as well, deepening the kiss. It’s passionate and fiery and they only part for air. 

  
“I love you too, Beka.” Yuri says after they part, giving him that breathtaking  _ smile  _ that tears Otabek apart sometimes, “I always will.” 


	6. Marriage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've attended a good many weddings, but that in no ways means that I know how they work. My apologies if anything is inaccurate

To say he’s nervous would be the biggest understatement of the year. 

 

Yuri doesn’t understand why he’s nervous. Everything has been so meticulously planned, he doesn’t have to worry about any accidental changes. His suit(he almost wore a dress merely to spite gender roles, but eventually opted against it.) is ironed and it fits him about as well as it can. Surprisingly, Viktor had been the one to do his hair, and not only does it look  _ fucking amazing,  _ but it’s also completely covered in buckets of hairspray to keep it up. 

 

He doesn’t know why he’s nervous. 

 

There’s always the possibility that it’s because of Zhenya’s presence. Over the years, the Kazakh woman had warmed up to him(about as much as she could) but she still intimidated the shit out of him. Of course, the rest of Otabek’s family is nice - especially Farida. She’s nineteen now - nineteen, and attending photography courses in London at a nice university - and she lights up the room with her presence. Ayna, silent as always, also came - bringing her husband and kids along for the ride. 

 

Otabek’s friends are there too. 

 

Over the years - the eight years since they met - Otabek’s friends slowly morphed into being  _ his _ friends too. Yuri doesn’t know when that happened. Maybe when Dima brushes up on his Russian for the sole purpose of excluding the others from their conversation - a way of apologizing for that first day, in a sense. Maybe when he and Inzhu and Milla all got together and got drunk one night, talking about nonsense and giving each other makeovers. Maybe it was when he finally was introduced to Bolat and Azat - the other set of twins in the friend group - and Kamila. He doesn’t know. 

 

What he does know is that Milla is his maid of honor, and Dima is the best man, and all of Otabek’s family and friends make up their party - with some exceptions, of course. Viktor and Yuuri’s little girl, Svetlana, is the flower girl - she’s five, and is probably the cutest child Yuri’s ever seen. Viktor is the one that will give him away at the altar - it could’ve been Yakov, as the only other paternal figure still in Yuri’s life,  but Viktor had begged and begged and finally Yuri had given in. It’s strange thinking about it - thinking about how Viktor and Yuuri had slowly but surely filled the gap in Yuri’s heart by all but legally becoming his parents. He’s grateful for them. 

 

_ Not that I’ll ever admit that out loud. _

 

“You ready?” 

 

The gentle squeeze to his hand brings him out of his thoughts, and Yuri looks up at Viktor. The elder Russian had promised not to be too gushy, but the man is beaming at him, and it would almost be annoying if it weren’t Yuri’s wedding day. 

 

“As I’ll ever be.” He breathes in response, and Viktor gently places the veil on his head. 

 

Instead of wearing a dress, Yuuri went out of his way and bought him a veil that extended down the entire length of his body to trail behind him. It’s a pale silver color, contrasting with his hair, and he  _ loves  _ it. 

 

The veil touches the floor now, and then a small bouquet of flowers is being pressed into his hands. It’s time. 

 

Yuri slips his arm in Viktor’s - the elder man looking down on him with a fond, almost unreadable look - and the doors open. 

 

He and Otabek had decided the wedding would be in Kazakhstan towards the beginning of their engagement, but Yuri had made the ultimate decision on  _ where.  _ He had wanted an outdoor wedding like Viktor and Yuuri’s was. After debating and spending late nights on the phone with Farida, he finally picked a plot of land that lay between Almaty and the mountains - a plot of land that had a cabin to get ready in and a wide field for the chairs and reception area. 

 

The sunlight is almost blinding, flashing Yuri as soon as he and Viktor step out. Vaguely, he can hear the music playing - it’s one of Otabek’s mixes, just about as non-traditional as they can be - but it sounds like he’s underwater, murky and muffled. He feels more nervous than he ever had in any competition, which is still so strange to him. He’ll laugh about it later, but now, in the moment, it terrifies him. 

 

Once again, it’s Viktor who grounds him with a soft squeeze to his arm. Yuri glances upwards, trying his best to school in his expression. 

 

Up ahead of them, Milla is beaming, her eyes suspiciously moist as she wipes them with a gloved hand. Next to her, saying a complete ‘fuck you’ to gender roles, is Yuuri, offering an encouraging smile. Inzhu looks like she’s about to start weeping, Ayna offers a small smile, and Farida is practically bouncing, her expression of complete and utter joy sending sparks down Yuri’s spine. 

 

He can’t look over at Otabek’s side. Not yet. Not when he’s still got a couple meters to go - not when his vision is tunneling and he can’t see the guests, only the people in front of him. 

 

Finally, Viktor releases his arm, leaning forward to kiss the top of his head paternally and smiling. “Go get him, tiger.” He whispers, and Yuri barely restrains himself from batting the elder Russian away. He doesn’t have to, luckily - Viktor makes his way to his place on Otabek’s side, still smiling like a helpless idiot. 

 

The clergy - someone that Zhenya had recommended, he didn’t know the guy at all - starts talking, and Yuri finally gathers enough courage to look up at Otabek. 

 

His fiance and soon-to-be husband is gazing at him with that ridiculously fond expression of his. It’s the same expression that was on his face when he proposed - that mixture of childlike adoration and heartfelt love. It’s a good thing Yuri is so out of it - he would’ve been blushing like crazy otherwise. 

 

Next to Otabek, in Yuri’s peripheral vision, is Dima, smiling. Everybody is smiling. He supposes that today of all days is a good day for literally the  _ entire world  _ to be giving him and Otabek that same  _ fucking smile.  _

 

The clergy is speaking, but Yuri’s ears are still ringing, and he can’t really make out words. It’s okay though - he doesn’t think he needs to hear. Not when he knows what the man is saying, not when the most important part comes at the very end. 

 

The ring-bearer walks up the aisle - Svetlana’s older brother, Mikhail. He’s eight - was two when Viktor and Yuuri adopted him - and he already thinks that his Uncle Yuri is the coolest person in the world, much to everyone’s chagrin. Yuri thinks it’s adorable. 

 

Mikhail offers the rings, and first Otabek takes one. His lips are moving, he’s saying the script they memorized weeks ago, and Yuri watches him speak so that he knows when it’s his turn. 

 

He watches Otabek take his hand, slip off the white gloves Yuri had insisted on wearing, and slide the sparkling gold ring onto his finger. 

 

When it is his turn - made aware by the stillness of Otabek’s mouth and the firmness of the clergy’s - Yuri picks up the white gold ring off the pillow. He’s glad he memorized the words he has to say, because he still can’t hear anything. He knows he’s speaking, and, judging from Otabek’s face, he’s doing just fine, even as he finishes the speech and slips the ring onto Otabek’s finger. 

 

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur. Yuri vaguely remembers exchanging vows, and slowly his hearing returns, but time passes quickly and he’s still so  _ anxious _ . 

 

He hears Otabek say, “I do.” And that’s his cue to start listening again. When the clergy asks him if he’s willing to stick with Otabek through thick and thin and always be there for him(or something like that), Yuri whispers a soft  _ fuck yes  _ that only Otabek can hear before speaking up, “I do.” 

 

“I now pronounce you husband and husband.” The clergy glances down at them, and he almost looks as fond as everybody else in the audience, “You may kiss the… husband.” 

 

_ Clearly this is his first homosexual marriage.  _ Yuri thinks amusedly before Otabek is swooping forward and capturing his lips in a kiss, his arms wrapping around Yuri’s frame. It only lasts a matter of seconds - mostly because of the reception, partly because they can get rather heated when they kiss and  _ nobody wants to see that.  _

 

When they part, Yuri turns to the audience, “Who’s ready for a party?” 

 

“ _ Yura.”  _ Otabek scolds, but he doesn’t sound very serious - the amusement is creeping into his voice, and Yuri just laughs. The crowd responds positively, and he takes that as a good sign. 

 

The reception consists of homemade cooking - courtesy of Hiroko Katsuki and Zhenya Altin, of course - and music provided by Otabek. He had made a good two hours of mixes just for the wedding, because he’s over the top like that, but he hadn’t let Yuri hear any of it, so he’s excited. The music hasn’t started though…

 

“Hey guys!” Farida addresses the crowd, standing in the middle of the reception area. She speaks in English - the one language that the most people here have in common - and her voice is naturally loud so she draws everybody’s attention - Yuri’s included. 

 

Once everybody is quiet, Farida starts talking, “Alright, so, it’s longtime tradition in the Altin family to start the reception off with the first dance. So, if my brother and brother-in-law will come up here please?” 

 

Yuri laughs, and Otabek pulls him to where Farida is standing. 

 

The younger girl grins at them, “Now we can get this party started. Cue music!” The last two words she calls further down, where Azat stands with a phone in hand next to a pair of giant speakers. Otabek’s friend solemnly nods, and the music starts. 

 

Yuri heard somewhere that the music a married couple first dances to is supposed to be special, but he can barely hear the lyrics, and all he can focus on his Otabek taking his hands, guiding them to his own shoulders, and they slip into a traditional slow dance. Yuri gets lost in Otabek’s eyes - such a deep, crystalline brown, and the look in them is so delicately soft and warm - and he doesn’t even want to  _ think  _ about what he must look like right now. 

 

Halfway through the song, the music changes, and suddenly it’s much faster paced. Everybody joins in, and Otabek releases Yuri, laughing. He planned this, Yuri realizes - of course he did. 

 

He’s yanked around into a pair of inviting arms, and Yuuri smiles down at him, “Viktor wanted the next dance with you.” The Japanese male explains, and Yuri laughs, allowing Yuuri to swing him around and back. 

 

“So you decided to spite him?” 

 

“Pretty much.” 

 

The song ends quickly, and Viktor finds the two of them laughing and spinning around in circles, just being silly. He doesn’t really look angry - sad, maybe, and he definitely pouts.    
  


“Yuuuuri, I wanted to dance with him!” 

 

The music changes back to a slower song, and Yuuri just helplessly grins at Yuri even as he speaks, “Dance with him now.” 

 

Yuri sputters, Yuuri releases him, and Viktor takes his place, holding his hands delicately. 

 

“I’m proud of you, Yuratchka. You know that, right?” He asks softly, slowly dancing with Yuri the way a father dances with his daughter. 

 

Yuri just nods, “I know. “ 

 

Despite predictions about his height, Viktor is still taller than him - by a lot. Still. It’s annoyingly frustrating, but Yuri’s done being salty about his height. He can still skate, he can still skate  _ well,  _ and that’s good enough… even if he did wish he could tease the elder. 

 

Viktor towers over him now, and eventually, as they fall into somber silence, Yuri becomes tired of looking at him. He glances over the man’s shoulder, at all the other couples dancing together. 

 

Otabek is surprisingly still on the floor - he twirls Farida around as though the younger sibling were still the twelve year old Yuri met the first time. 

 

Dima and Milla make a show of dancing together as the best man and maid of honor - it would be comical, but Yuri can see fondness in both of their glances. 

 

Ruslan and Inzhu are dancing, and probably reminiscing their own wedding. It had been several years ago - Yuri remembers that clearly, because Inzhu had begged him to be in it. He felt honored. 

 

There are others blurring in and out of his view, but then the song ends, and Viktor releases him with a light squeeze. 

 

Somebody immediately taps his shoulder, and Yuri groans, “Does the entire fucking world want to dance with me or something?” 

 

Milla pouts, “Don’t be like that, Yura! I’m your maid of honor, you have to dance with me.” 

 

Yuri just sighs, “If you insist.” He’s not really being serious, of course - Milla’s practically his sister at this point - but it’s still normal to mess around.

 

He pulls her into a casual dance, lightly swinging with the beat. It’s different - he’s so used to dancing in clubs, slow-dancing with another person is almost foreign to him. 

 

“So… you and Dima?” He asks, twirling Milla around. 

 

She laughs, “I didn’t expect that either - it just kinda happened during the rehearsals. He’s pretty cool - my kind of guy.” 

 

Yuri snorts, “That’ll make people interested. The best man and maid of honor meet for the first time at the wedding, fall in love and get married two years later. I better be your maid of honor.”

 

“You will be.” Milla promises, and she spins him away, rejoining Dima. 

 

Yuri loses track of how many people he dances with - pretty much everybody there - before Farida is reigning them in for dinner. Finally, he gets to be with Otabek again - they hadn’t seen each other since that first dance. 

 

“Toasts!” Farida declares before they start eating the wondrous meal Hiroko and Zhenya had prepared. 

 

Milla stands, “I get to go first, obviously.” She clears her throat, “I’m sure not everybody knows me - my name is Milla Babicheva. I’m one of Yuri’s rinkmates, and probably his oldest friend, although he denies it fervently. He was ten when he came to join us at Yakov’s rink after the summer camp - I was thirteen. We were the closest in age of all the skaters Yakov had, so we immediately became close. That’s not what this story is about though. I was there whenever Yuri and Otabek became friends - I had my eye on Otabek as well, although that never would’ve worked out, he was so far gone on our Yura. Anybody could tell that they wouldn’t end up with anybody but each other.” The red-haired woman raises her glass, “To the years they will spend together! Not that it will be any different, because they acted like a married couple most of the time anyways!” 

 

Yuri sips at his glass, and Otabek is grinning, his normal stoic expression nonexistent in the moment. 

 

Dima stands up next, grinning as always. “I would try to make this short, but this marriage has been thirteen years in the makings. Yes, thirteen - I still remember that one summer when our Bek went to Russia for, what, two weeks? And he came back babbling about a certain littlle blonde-haired beauty. Don’t look at me like that Otabek - I’m your best man, it’s my job to embarrass you as much as possible. Anyways, I knew right then that Bek wouldn’t stop until he at the very least forced said blonde to become his friend - he’s stubborn like that, you know? I think I called the marriage… when was it, Inzhu?” 

 

The woman smirks, “Right after Yuri came over the first time. You watched them leave, and then turned to us saying “They’re going to get married one day.””

 

“Hell yeah I did.” Dima chuckles, lifting his glass, “To Bek and Yuri, that they may be stubborn together for the rest of their days.” 

 

Everyone follows suit, and Yuri doesn’t need to look at Otabek to know he’s blushing.

 

“I remember the first day I met Yuri.” Farida sighs softly, wistfully, “I was twelve, and didn’t speak much Russian. I didn’t know English then either - just a little bit of Russian and Kazakh. Of course, Yuri didn’t speak Kazakh then - he does now though, I’ve made sure of it.”

 

Yuri snorts. Yes, she had - several years ago, Farida had sat him down with lesson plans already created and demanded that he learn Kazakh. She should be a teacher - she’s good at it - but instead she went into photography. Shame. 

 

“Despite our obvious language barriers, Yuri still took time to hang out with me - he’s always been bold and very proud, but, when I was twelve, he let that fade and I saw a glimpse of who he really was - someone who takes time to care about the people he cares about, and extending that care to the other person’s life. He knew Bek cared about me, and so he extended his own feelings to include me in them, and if that isn’t just the sweetest thing, I don’t know what is.” 

 

It’s his turn to blush - he had never heard it put that way before. 

 

“So, to Bek and Yuri - may they always love each other and their family.” Farida raises her glass, and everybody echoes her. 

 

“My turn!” Viktor stands eagerly, ignoring the rather obvious glare Yuri shoots him, “The only people at this reception that have known Yuri longer than I are probably Milla and Yakov - that’s it. I’ve gotten the privilege to watch our favorite little tiger grow up from the determinedly stubborn ten year old to an even more so determinedly stubborn adult. Yura’s always been family to me - whether he realized it or not - and I can finally say ‘I-told-you-so’ to my Yuuri about Otabek joining our family today. And I… I don’t think I can fully express in words just how  _ proud  _ I am of them both. As Milla and Dima said, it was so painfully obvious that they would get married one day, but I can’t say in words how happy I am that not only did they get married, but that I was the one to give Yura away - that little Yuri finally accepted me into his family.” Viktor pauses to wipe at his eyes, “So, to make a long story short, to Yura and Otabek and the family they will have.”

 

As the man goes to sit down, he offers a smile towards Yuri - one of his smaller, more hidden smiles, and if Yuri has to wipe his eyes, it’s because it’s a warm autumn evening in Almaty, and that’s  _ all.  _

 

He knows he’s probably expected to speak, so, when nobody immediately jumps up to offer a speech, he stands himself, pushing the veil out of his face so he can clearly be seen.

 

“So… obviously, all of you know me, whether it’s as Yuri or as the Russian Otabek’s marrying,” He starts, shifting from one foot to the other, “But whether or not you actually know me, you’ll notice that I don’t have a single blood relative present here today. I… I never knew my dad, my mom walked out of my life when I was five, my grandmother died when I was seven, my grandfather died when I was nineteen. I don’t have any family left, not any that are actually related to me. But that’s okay.” Yuri pauses, glancing down at the table to recollect his thoughts, and to let his words be mulled over. 

 

“I do have a family. Viktor and Yuuri are my parents, as loathe as I am to admit it.” He laughs softly, “They might as well be, for how they accepted me into their lives. Yakov and Lilia are just as close - more than my coaches, they are practically my grandparents. Milla is my sister, and… I guess what I’m trying to say is… It took me a very long time to realize that family was more than blood… and Beka was the one that showed that to me. Before anything else, he was my first friend. He was the first person to look at me and see more than the walls I built around myself. I don’t know where I’d be in life right now if not for him. He’s been my family for years now, and I’m so, so… so  _ happy  _ that it’s official now.” 

 

There’s tears in his eyes, and he’s lost his train of thought again. Instead of attempting to pick it back up, though, he just sits down, allowing Otabek to pull him into the other male’s chest.

 

“These rings? They represent my promise to always be by your side. For better or for worse, we’ll always be together.” Otabek whispers to him softly. 

 

“Always.” Yuri echoes, staring down at his gold ring. 

 

Yes, they still have trials. They still have their ups and their downs, just like every other couple. 

 

But, for now, Yuri stares at the sunset, and he smiles. 

 

Otabek is his. 

 

_ Forever and always. _

**Author's Note:**

> This first part is short, but don't worry! I'm uploading the second chapter, like, right now!


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